May Your Days
by RobinRocks
Summary: "Ugh, seriously, who arranges a meeting the day before Christmas Eve?" USUK, Christmas fic. America and England verbally maul each other in a hotel room.


It's Christmas Eve again, can you believe it?! And look, I actually wrote something _nice_ for once! XD

...Well, sort of. Here's the thing: I've been in this fandom for a LONG time - seven years last month, in fact! - and I have noticed a very big shift in the type of fanfics that get produced. Now there are lots of AUs and that's great, it's nice that the fandom is still living and breathing and changing! However, I admit recently I've been feeling a bit nostalgic for what I would call the "Classic LJ-style" USUK fanfic from the early days of the fandom, usually set in the canon universe at a world meeting or in a hotel room (after a world meeting, haha), using country names, etc. I feel like I haven't read something like that in a long time!

...So I wrote one. That and I guess I just wanted to write some verbal savaging between the boys. It's all in good fun.

May Your Days

"Seriously, Germany is taking the goddamn piss!"

"I admit I'm surprised at him. Nobody likes to get drunk at Christmas more than he does."

"Heh." America grinned over his shoulder. "Except you."

"Oh, goodness, you know I don't need an excuse." England started fumbling in the pockets of his suit as they approached their door. "Bugger, I think I've lost the room key..."

"What, _again_?" America pulled his own from his top pocket. "You've really gotta start giving them both to me."

"Oh, so you can lose them both? You're just as bad as me."

"Am not."

"Yes you are."

"Am _not_." America waved the cardkey in his face. "What's this, huh? The only way you're getting in the damn room. Be nice or I'll leave you outside in the hall all night."

England snorted. "More like you'll watch that _Christmas Carol_ film, get scared the second Jacob Marley appears and beg me to come back in, all before half-past ten."

"I said I'm not gonna watch it!"

"See that you don't. I want a good night's sleep. You know we've got a flight to catch in the morning."

"Ughhhh." America groaned loudly and obnoxiously as he let them into the room, all but falling over the threshold. "Which brings me back to Exhibit A: Germany's a pain in the ass."

"I know, I know. Keep it down, he's on this floor."

"Ha, since when do you care about talking shit about Germany? Didn't you start two world wars that way?"

"I didn't _start_ them, thank you very much, but I bloody well finished them."

America grinned at him. "Sorry, _who_ finished them?"

"Oh, don't start." England swatted impatiently at him. "After that excruciating meeting, the last thing I want to think about is politics."

"Me neither." America unbuttoned his suit jacket and threw it off, flopping across the bed. "Seriously, who arranges a meeting the day before Christmas Eve?"

"Germany. Exhibit A, remember?" England went to the wardrobe, stepping over the strewn contents of America's abandoned suitcase. "Well, at least it's over," he conceded. "And I suppose it could have been worse."

"How could it have been worse?" America grumbled into the pillow. "Italy cried three times, Austria was a little bitch and Switzerland had a gun. Guns aren't _allowed_ , remember?"

"I think that rule only applies to you, love." England undid his jacket and began to unknot his tie. "Besides, the dinner wasn't so bad. Nobody threw anything."

"Cuba was thinking about it."

"Well, I don't really blame him. You're a terrible wind-up merchant at times."

"I was _trying_ to have a serious conversation with him. It's not my fault he wants to bang Canada, can't tell us apart, comes on to me and then gets mad when I correct him."

"You could have corrected him sooner, really. I can't blame him for being angry."

"Oh, shut up, England." America rolled over, fishing out his phone from his trouser pocket. "Even _you_ can't tell us apart sometimes and you've got no excuse."

"I know, I see your face so much it really ought to burned onto the backs of my retinas by now."

"Anyway, you were no help." America loaded up _Angry Birds_ and began mashing away it on top volume. "You and France thought it was fucking hilarious. I mean, yeah, okay, he thought I was Canada – but what if he really _had_ been coming on to me, right, and I was going along with it like that? All _you_ did was laugh. Maybe I really was considering it, you know?" He lost, tutted angrily and restarted the level. "Cuba, I mean... I hear he has awesome cigars."

"America," England said calmly, slipping out his cufflinks, "you and I both know I'd tear your fucking head off if you even thought about it."

America laughed loudly, tilting his phone. "Right, right. What about Russia, then?"

Slightly more dangerous territory, perhaps, but the threat there had long passed.

"I'd have you hanged, drawn and quartered."

"Ha, you really would, wouldn't you?" America rolled onto his side, letting his phone drop to the bed. "How romantic."

England shot him dry smile over his shoulder, hanging up his jacket. He was down to his waistcoat, grey silk gleaming like buffed steel.

"What about me?" he asked. "What would you do?"

"If what, you fucked France? England, you _have_ fucked France. Everybody knows that. I mean, he's said it enough times."

"Oh, that was years ago," England said dismissively. "No-one cares about what happened back then. Medieval Europe was a mess."

America put his hand under his cheek. "Maybe _I_ care."

"You didn't even exist back then."

"I know that, you cradle-robber." America sighed deeply. "...Things really are different now, huh?"

"That's a good thing. Obviously the world is still a mess, not much has changed there, but we as nations have changed immensely."

"Are we kinder?"

"I think so." England shrugged. "God, this time of year always makes me feel so bleeding old."

"England, you _are_ old."

"You're not exactly a spring chicken yourself anymore, I'm afraid." England came to the bed, slipping the buttons of his waistcoat undone. His shirt collar was already popped, exposing his pale slender neck. "But you know what I mean."

"I do." America moved back on the bed so he could sit on the edge of it, winding an arm about his waist. "You start thinking about how many Christmases you've seen, how many you've spent at war..."

"Mm." England scrunched at his hair affectionately. "Far too many."

"I guess Germany yelling about CO2 emissions sure beats him bombing the crap outta us, huh?"

England raised an eyebrow. "You _guess_?"

"Tch, goes without saying, right?"

"Indeed." England yawned. "You never did say what you'd do to me."

"Like you could convince anyone else to screw you, you old codger."

"What's the matter with you, then? Need thicker glasses?" England flicked the right lens, making America hiss and recoil. "Or do you just like old men?"

"Hey, you've seen my Founding Fathers, right? Washington, Jefferson, Franklin... Guess I have a type."

"Oh, well, if we're going to stoop to insinuating we'd shag a human or two then perhaps you're in trouble after all, love."

"It was Shakespeare, right? Bet you two were not-so-secret lovers. Bet he wrote you like a million sonnets and read them to you in filthy pubs and then you'd go to some brothel and fuck and it was gross because nobody showered back then."

"George Washington didn't shower, either, you little prick." England was laughing, though, his hand gentle on America's scalp. "This all sounds dreadfully rehearsed, you know."

"Oh, that's what I get off on. Thinking about you fucking William Shakespeare on some flea-ridden straw mattress at 2am."

"Alright, alright." England's sharp fingers tightened just a little. "You _still_ haven't said what you'd do."

"You really want to know?"

"Of course. We're having an intelligent, civilised conversation, aren't we?"

"Heh, don't we always?" America pressed his cheek against England's hip. "Gee, I'd, uh... choke you to death on a quadruple-decker Big Mac."

"Really?" England exhaled through his nose. "That's the best you can do?"

"Look, I don't spend my every waking minute thinking up gruesome ways to murder you! That's a _good_ thing, right?"

"It is – but still, your lack of creativity is a bit disappointing."

"Fine. I'd drop the Stature of Liberty on you. Happy?"

"Hm. It's better, I suppose. I don't think you're really trying."

America yawned. "Too tired. Let me sleep on it, 'kay?"

"Fine." England smiled. "I confess I was expecting you to say something completely disgusting."

"Like what?" America stifled a second yawn. "I'd fuck you to death – pound you into a bloodied paste?"

"Something like that."

"More like you were _hoping_ I'd say it, you weird old perv."

"Oh, I think that's a bit unfair."

"But not untrue, right?" America tightened his hold suddenly, pulling him backwards, rolling him over. England slammed into the pillows with a wheeze, struggling half-heartedly as America settled atop him. "Well," he went on, "maybe I _will_."

"Oh, Christ, not tonight," England groaned. "Save my impending brutal execution courtesy of your hips from Hell until we get back to London. Tomorrow's Christmas Eve – you can do what you want with me then."

"Can I?" America grinned down at him. "I'll remember you said that, babe."

"You are most welcome to. In the meantime, get off me before I put my knee somewhere thoroughly unpleasant."

"Tch, don't do that. I'm gonna need it, aren't I?"

"Well, perhaps you can be the one on your back for once. Lord knows it's been long enough."

"You're way too slow. Don't forget, you call 'em the hips from Hell for a reason."

"Yes, yes." England rolled his eyes, pushing at him. " _Off_."

"Kiss first." America leaned down, nipping at his neck when he turned his face away to be obtuse. "Come _on_ , don't be a dick."

"Ugh, fine." England tilted his face up towards him, letting him catch up his mouth. It was teeth and tongue and a tangle of hot breath for a moment, America shifting on top of him, getting more comfortable–

"Time's up." England pulled away with a wry smile, pushing again at him. "Come on, I want to have a shower."

"Together?" Hopeful.

"After last time? I hardly think so. You're lucky you didn't need stitches."

"It was just a little bump."

"You were concussed for two days."

"Ah, I've had worse."

"I'll _give_ you worse if you don't peel your fat arse off me right this instant."

"Oh, bah humbug." America at last rolled off him, settling on his own side of the bed with his arms folded. "What happened to goodwill to all men?"

"Try me tomorrow when I'm at home with the whiskey open."

"Oh, I will, don't worry." America tilted his head back against the pillow, closing his eyes, listening to the rustle and jingle of England taking off the rest of his suit. "...I'm looking forward to it."

"To the whiskey?"

"All of it. Spending Christmas with you, just the two of us. It'll be nice."

"Mm." England hummed his agreement, his tone pleasant. "Yes, it will. I'm looking forward to it, too. Times like those... that's when I actually feel almost human. It's nice to forget, isn't it? ...Even if it's only for a short while."

"Yeah." America smiled at him, stretching, pointing his toes in their scuffed grey socks. "'Course, you'll have forgotten everything, even your own name, by the time you're on your third glass."

"Oh, dear, I thought the tone had changed. Aren't we being nice now?"

"I'm always nice." America stuck his tongue out at him. "Anyway, go have your boring one-man-show shower, whatever. I'll keep the bed warm."

"Don't watch that bloody film," England said over his shoulder, drifting towards the bathroom. "I'm warning you."

"Oh my god, I'm not _even_." America closed his eyes. "Don't slip on the soap and break a hip."

"Oh, fuck off."

"You fuck off."

"Wanker."

"Asshole."

America opened one eye, meeting England's gaze; he was standing in the bathroom doorway, backlit in fluorescent yellow, grinning like a fool. He felt his own mouth curl up into a stupid smile.

"I really love you, you know," he said.

"I love you, too." England leaned against the doorframe. "But if you tell anyone, I'll have you killed. I don't care if it's Christmas, I have connections. I can get the job done. They'll find you when the snow melts."

"Dreaming of a white Christmas, huh?" America smirked. "How romantic."

England gave him his very kindest smile.

"Only the best for you, love."

* * *

What is this, really? A whole lot of nothing, haha. But _wow_ was it fun to write.

Merry Christmas to all - and to all a good night!


End file.
